The Watson mansion did not feel like a home; it felt like a museum where the air was too expensive to breathe. As the heavy iron gates hissed shut behind the car, Jay felt a phantom weight settle on her chest. She was no longer the girl who ran through the rain to save on jeepney fare. She was a Watson—on paper, at least.
Donya Elena led her to the second floor, her heels clicking softly on the polished marble.
"This will be your suite, hija.
Keifer's things are already inside. For the sake of the household staff and my husband, you must appear to be a normal, devoted couple."
Jay nodded, her "Sunshine" mask firmly fixed. "I understand, Tita. I'll make sure everything looks perfect."
Elena paused at the door, her eyes softening with a hint of sadness. "You don't have to be perfect behind closed doors, Jaspher. Just... try to live."
When Jay stepped inside, she found Keifer standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the sprawling garden.
He had discarded his blazer, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked every bit the master of the house, but his shoulders were tensed.
He turned as the door clicked shut. The silence between them was deafening.
"So," Keifer said, his voice dropping into that familiar, arrogant drawl. "From the library to the master suite. You really know how to climb a social ladder, Mariano."
The jab stung, but Jay didn't let the smile falter. "It's a contract, Keifer. I'm just following the terms. I didn't know it was you until I walked into that office."
"Whatever." He walked toward her, stopping just outside her personal space.
The air between them felt charged, a strange mix of the resentment from their campus rivalry and the new, forced intimacy of the marriage. "Look, my dad is a shark. If he catches even a whiff that this is a sham, he'll cut us both off. That means we share this room. We share that bed."
Jay's gaze darted to the massive, king-sized bed in the center of the room. It was large enough for four people, but to her, it looked like a tiny island.
"I understand the arrangement," she said, her voice steady. She walked to the bed and pointed to the middle. "This is an invisible line. You stay on the right, I stay on the left. We don't cross it. We don't talk unless it's about the 'deal.' And we don't... touch."
Keifer let out a dry, short laugh. "Don't worry, Scholar. You're not exactly my type. I prefer girls who don't treat every conversation like a graded recitation."
(A/n : if you are thinking why keifer said this , even when he likes her. It is because he is feeling annoyed as he wants her as his real wife not contracted.)
He brushed past her to grab a towel, his shoulder grazing hers.
Jay stiffened, her breath hitching for a fraction of a second.
"I'll start unpacking," she said to his back.
As Keifer disappeared into the bathroom, Jay began to place her few belongings into the massive walk-in closet. Her faded shirts looked pathetic next to his designer suits.
She realized then that the "Golden Cage" was real. She had safety, she had food, and she had a name that protected her—but she was sharing her life with a boy who looked at her like a problem to be solved, while she looked at him as the only person who knew her secret.
The invisible line on the bed felt miles wide, yet the room felt far too small.